A Stone in the Sea

by A. L. Jackson

  Asshole just had to dig it in.

  “Fuck you, man.” Yanking my arm back, I cocked my head to the side so I could glare at Lyrik who was having way too much fun at my expense. God, the one drawback of having friends who knew you so well? They picked up on absolutely everything and figured every bit was their business. Weren’t a whole lot of secrets between the four of us. Usually that shit didn’t matter because I had nothing to hide from them.

  But this?

  This felt private. Like I needed to protect Shea from their prying minds and misplaced assumptions. Just one more thing about her that left me feeling unnerved.

  “What was that about, anyway?” Ash asked.

  And there we go.

  I shrugged. “Wasn’t about anything. Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Incredulous laughter thundered from him. “Right. You should see your face right now. Don’t try to tell me it was nothing. You hittin’ that? Thought there was something going on between you two the last time we were in here.”

  I almost growled. “Isn’t any of your fucking business who I’m hitting.”

  He just laughed harder and jerked his thumb my direction, amused eyes bouncing between Lyrik and Zee. “Holy shit, I think our boy here has a crush. I do believe the sky is falling.”

  Zee chuckled, but he was watching me, trying to get inside my head the way he always did. “Fucking hot, man. Nothing to be ashamed of there.”

  I scowled. “I don’t have a crush and I’m not hitting anything, so just drop it, all right?”

  Motherfucking crush. What bullshit. It was time I gave up whatever irrational ideas I had of taking this girl, anyway. Because she belonged to something bigger, needed more than I could ever give her.

  Only thing I had to give her was more fucking heartache.

  And from the depth of those bottomless eyes, from that protective stance she’d taken when she’d stood next to her little girl, I knew she needed no more of it.

  Ash cracked a smile. “Whatever, you just keep telling yourself that.”

  I’d been telling myself that for weeks. Apparently I wasn’t all that convincing.

  As the night grew long, I sat and tried to keep my cool while the mood in Charlie’s escalated.

  A furor of energy lit the air as people continued to pack into the bar. The lights were low, casting faces in obscurity, a thick mist of ambiguity. Crammed wall to wall, so many bodies had flooded the cavernous space that I was having a hard time keeping track of Shea. Half of Savannah had to be here tonight. There weren’t close to enough seats to go around, so hordes gathered around tables, standing in the walkways, and pushing forward to get closer to the stage. The area where the long row of pool tables taking up part of the opposite side of the bar was completely jammed full of good ol’ boys out to shoot a round.

  Tonight the country band was loud. Their front man had a deep, raspy voice that reverberated through the speakers, strains of a guitar coming up behind it, the quick beat of drums ushering it along. Voices lifted to be heard above the heavy twang, the din rising to a steady roar as people seemed to grow rowdier and rowdier by the minute.

  Shea slipped by, brushing passed me like the tendrils of a midnight breeze. Caramel eyes sought out mine as she passed, her dark calling me home.

  She was quick to turn her back.

  I stifled a groan when she stopped at a table in front of ours. The sweet sway of her ass nothing but a temptation as she leaned over to try and pass drinks to a couple of women whose table was blocked by a group of guys gathered in a disordered cluster behind it, their voices obnoxious and loud enough I could hear them above the music.

  My fists curled when one of them edged forward, pawed at her side and leaned his face in close to her ear, asshole acting like he had something important to say to her when it was as obvious as the tremor that suddenly ripped through my body that he just wanted to cop a feel.

  “Down boy,” Ash taunted through a chuckle, giving voice to what I’d been trying to deny all night. But it was damned near impossible when the bastard let that hand wander down to grab the swell of her perfect ass.

  Knew those types. Saw them everywhere I went. Reaching out to take whatever they wanted whether it belonged to them or not. Assholes who thought the world owed them something. Those who played with people for entertainment.

  Guys like Jennings.

  A flare of hostility lit up my insides, and I clenched my jaw just as tightly as I pressed my fists into my thighs, trying to snuff out the spike of aggression that jumped through my veins.

  Discretely, Shea unraveled herself from his hold. Her face—that had become impossible to purge from my mind—tipped back just enough that I saw that same feigned smile she’d used on me the first time I’d seen her. But when she used it on this guy, it was pained, a forced pleasantry used to ward off attention she most definitely did not want.

  It took all the control I had left to force myself to stay still, to sit there instead of lunging from the table to rip this guy’s arm clean from his body because he did not get the clue. He spread his hand out, palming her, fingers harassing at the frayed hem of her shorts.

  She reared back and swung her shoulders, her body following as she turned on the guy. Anything that had resembled pleasant a few seconds ago had been extinguished. She spat words that I was dying to hear up toward his face, hers twisted in clear insult.

  One the asshole clearly deserved but refused to receive.

  He grabbed her by the jaw. Squeezed. Fingers he was about to lose indented her skin.

  Panic flooded her. I could see it. Feel it. The way those eyes went wide. Her tray clattered to the floor when she let it loose and both her hands flew up to grip at his wrist. Struggling. But he didn’t let go. He just mashed his nose up to hers, screaming something at her that got eaten up by the band that played on as if they couldn’t sense something intrinsic in me coming apart.

  Like a brittle, weakened beam of metal, that one piece that held me together, the control I exerted to make it through this life, bent, bent, bent.

  Until it broke.

  Shattered.

  The way it always did when I was protecting something that meant something to me.

  Sharp shards cutting me through.

  Red colored my eyes, and black hate throbbed deep in those places I normally did my best to hide.

  Shea.

  Shea.

  Shea.

  A harsh breath left Lyrik, the man feeding off my hostility.

  Because if there was going to be a brawl? Chances were, he and I were going to be a part of it.

  I came out from under the confines of the booth, climbing onto the seat considering I was stuck between my crew. I felt as if I was on fire, incinerating from the inside out, the searing rush of protectiveness surging from my bones. It combusted in terror and rage when he threw her back by the face.

  What. The. Fuck?

  I lurched when she stumbled back into the table, all that blonde like a whip as it flew, caramel eyes rounding like the pour of espresso. Blackened with fear.

  The circle of faces sitting around the table lit up in horror as it wobbled and tipped. All of their stools tumbled back as they rushed to get out of the way when Shea went crashing to the floor.

  Glasses rained down. Shattering as amber liquid sloshed and splashed onto the hard wooden planks.

  When she hit, her entire body bounced before she slid through the tangled mess.

  Lyrik pulled his long, sinewy body to standing in the same second I used the table as a springboard, clearing half the distance before my feet hit the wooden floor.

  People screamed and scattered, scrambling to get out of my way while others surged forward, those seeking safety at odds with the mass that were all too eager to see the shedding of blood.

  And there would be blood.

  He was still leering over her when I came up behind him. It was as if he was two beats from jumping in and debasing her more, when he je
rked to look over his shoulder.

  The satisfied smirk gleaming in his bombed-out eyes drained when he came to realization, that sobering moment when he understood there would be pain. I grabbed him by the popped-up collar of his preppy-boy shirt and used it as leverage to yank him forward in the same second I cocked my arm back and smashed my fist into his nose.

  Blood splattered and he gasped. Squirming in my hold, he flung his arm out wide, the bitch thinking he was going to get a hit in on me. I caught his hand and bent it back. Squeezing. Twisting. Didn’t bat an eye that I felt his bones crunching beneath my hold. Pussy dropped to his knees, a plea fumbling from his filthy mouth. “Please.”

  I landed three quick jabs low to his back, right over his kidney, so hard I was pretty sure he’d be pissing blood for the next week. Just a little present so he’d never forget me. I bent over and leaned in close to his ear, hearing the desperate need for destruction oozing from my own voice. “Next time you want to touch a girl? Remember this. Remember me. And if you ever step foot in this bar again? I will find you.” It spilled out in a slow threat. “And I promise you, you don’t want that.”

  I pushed him back, let him fall to a heap in the middle of the floor.

  Lyrik, Ash, and Zee surrounded us, keeping the piece of shit’s friends at bay. As if any one of them would have the balls to step in and intervene.

  I knew my eyes were wide and crazed when I stood up straight and my attention jumped all over the faces staring back at me in shock, could feel the fever as it blistered across my skin. What had to be every occupant in the bar had made a living, thriving ring around us, spectators to the mayhem that had broken loose.

  Didn’t give two shits about any of that.

  I only had one concern.

  Shea.

  My attention flew to where she was curled up in a ball on her side on the dirty, sticky floor. Her hair was a mess around her, her delicate body rocking slowly as if she were in pain.

  I rushed to her side and knelt down, pulled her into my arms, one arm banded around her upper back and the other sliding under her knees. Carefully, I lifted her from the floor, having no clue if this girl was injured or just in shock.

  Didn’t mean to sigh out in relief when she wrapped those slender arms around my neck, but I did, and I pushed my nose in her hair, pressing kisses to the side of her head and murmuring, “I’ve got you, Shea. I’ve got you, baby.”

  I’ve got you.

  Her chest quaked, and she started to sob.

  Charlie suddenly barreled through the crowd, flinging people out of his way, his eyes about as wild as mine had to be as he searched for Shea. Red was right behind him.

  “Shea,” he wheezed, pausing for a fraction of a second as he took in the sight, before he rushed forward when he saw I held her in my arms. He went to take her, but I deflected, gathering her closer because I was pretty damned sure there was no chance I could let her go.

  “I’ve got her.” It sounded like a warning. A promise.

  It wasn’t until then I realized the band had stopped playing, and a bated silence became palpable in the frantic air—hushed breaths and curious stares—as oglers vied to get a better idea of what had gone down.

  A frown cut across Charlie’s face, before he stepped back, turned to shout at the male bartender who was standing on top of the bar to see over the crowd. “Get the cops here to get this asshole out of my house.” He said it with a sneer as he angled his attention on the little prick who was still writhing on the ground spouting some bullshit about taking me to court and making me pay.

  Get in line, motherfucker.

  Charlie lifted his head in authority. “Everyone else, go home. This ain’t none of your business.”

  He gestured with his chin. “Come on. This way.”

  He shoved back through the mass, and I held her close as I followed him, her heart thundering against my chest and her tears seeping into my shirt. He led me through the swinging double doors and through the kitchen. Two cooks stopped what they were doing and looked up in a startled worry as we made our way back toward what looked to be the break room.

  Red ran ahead and held open the door.

  This time her face wasn’t all tweaked with dissatisfaction directed at me, but in its place was a shaky, fumbling concern as she cautiously met my eye as I carried Shea into the room.

  Carefully, I laid her down on the worn leather couch pushed up against the wall. I took to a knee at her side and brushed back the hair sticking to her sweet, sweet face, and I knew there wasn’t a chance she couldn’t feel the turmoil trembling through me, the care I shouldn’t feel. The adrenaline-infused chaos clouding my head was beginning to clear, leaving me with a foreign feeling snarled like a viper in my gut.

  Charlie nudged me aside, and I let him wedge in to get a better spot near the girl who’d undone something inside of me.

  “Tamar,” he yelled, looking at Red. “Grab me a warm wet cloth and some ice, would you?”

  She nodded and shuffled out.

  “Shea Bear,” he murmured when he turned back to her, his voice hoarse, hands trembling just about as grimly as the panicked fever in my heart. “You hurt, baby girl?”

  Groaning, Shea pressed the heel of her hand gingerly to her temple. Her eyes fluttered open. “I hit my head…but I think I’m okay.” She blinked and tried to orient herself. “That guy…he…he…”

  Flustered, she attempted to sit up and Charlie lightly prodded her back down. “Watch yourself, sweetheart. Let’s make sure you’re okay before you go out there with claws bared, seeking retaliation.” The words cracked on the joke, his own fear patent.

  “Baz,” she whispered toward the ceiling as if she’d just realized I’d remained there with her. My name falling from her lips had me slipping a little deeper. My pulse was going crazy and I edged farther back to put some much-needed space between us, beginning to pace as I tried to sort out everything I was feeling. I gripped a handful of hair, looked back on the girl who lay on the couch.

  At her light and her dark and her peace and her torment.

  Lying there in silence, she was clearly trying to come to grips with everything, too.

  “I know, Bear, I know,” Charlie rumbled low. “We all know. You’re okay. We’ve got you.” Charlie issued the soothing promise while peering in my direction, obviously curious about my role in the whole we got you bit.

  I was pretty damned curious, too.

  Because right then I wanted to claim it.

  I’ve got you.

  And just for a little while, I didn’t want to let go.

  HIS STRANGE INTENSITY FILLED THE ROOM. But this time…this time it was different. Elevated and agitated and disturbed. He paced back and forth behind Charlie, a tensed-up bundle of rattled nerves, his attention set on his heavy black boots as he took the room in long, strong strides, then pivoted and took it again. But I could feel the weight of severe grey eyes when he’d cast sly, beseeching looks at me each time he passed. Looks that brimmed with the same turmoil I’d swam in for the last four days. Looks I wasn’t entirely sure he knew I was aware he was stealing.

  And it rattled me.

  After the way he’d left me standing with Kallie on the sidewalk at the beginning of the week, I’d been certain I’d never see him again, sure he’d never again grace that secluded spot in the bar that I’d come to know as his own.

  The sick thing was I’d actually been mourning him, my movements slowed with sadness, my heart a heavy weight where it beat sluggishly in my chest. Because I was wanting things I couldn’t have, simple dreams crushed before they ever had the chance to take flight. But they’d somehow taken root, burrowed deep where the dark, forbidden things in my world were stored like a burden, a closet full of dressed-up skeletons that would forever grieve what was never meant to be.

  Still, there was no stopping the way my thoughts were drawn there each time I stepped into the bar, fully expecting to never see him again while equally clinging to the fading hope
to catch one last glimpse.

  I should have been giving thanks he was gone.

  Instead I’d collided with a well of relief when I found him sitting there, the impact of it so strong it had nearly knocked me from my feet. Staring across at me, the expression on his face was as if he’d been suffering from the same affliction—his own skeletons that danced and taunted behind grey, secretive eyes.

  The thing was, it’d pissed me off, because I hated feeling so vulnerable amid the overwhelming power of his presence, susceptible to all kinds of foolish things that would only hurt me in the end.

  But no. This man—this mysterious, perplexing man—had saved me. He stepped in the line of fire and put himself on the line.

  Now he raged, scraped-up knuckles clenched into fists in his hair, worry and hurt and fear seeping from his pores.

  Tamar hustled back into the room, her expression sympathetic as she settled down on the floor next to Charlie and passed him the washcloth. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart,” he said.

  Balling it up, he pressed it to my temple. I winced and moved to hold it to the spot that throbbed and ached. Mentally, I took inventory to find if anything else hurt.

  “There you go,” Charlie whispered. His gaze tracked down my body, looking for injuries himself. “You sure you’re not hurt anywhere else? Can’t believe I let that go down in my bar.”

  Smiling up at him, I attempted a nod, trying to quell some of the outright fear my tough-as-nails uncle was doing his best to hide. Charlie always worried about me and the events of tonight sure weren’t going to do anything to allay them. “I’m fine. Just shaken up and a little knot on my head. That’s it. I promise.”

  Charlie huffed. “You just about sent me to an early grave tonight, Shea Bear. Second Tamar here started yelling your name…knowing you were in the middle of it.” The shake of his head was bleak. “Wouldn’t make it if I let something happen to you,” he admitted, a tremble running through the hand he had set on my cheek. “Especially under my roof.”

  Through a grimace, I pushed up to sitting, ignoring more of Charlie’s warnings to sit tight. I combated a rush of dizziness that swirled through my head, straightening myself when it passed. “It wasn’t your fault, Charlie. You have to know that… This is a bar. Men are going to get grabby. It’s just part of the game.”